


sing what the voice cannot

by fypical



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fypical/pseuds/fypical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam visits him, after everything. (Post-CA:CW; minor spoilers present.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing what the voice cannot

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers present for CA:CW. I loved Sam and Bucky's relationship in the movie and I wanted to fix that mid-credits scene, so this is that. Title modified from Richard Siken's "The Language of the Birds".

 

_the hand is a voice that can sing what the voice will not // r.s._

* * *

 

 

Sam visits him, after everything – after Bucharest and Berlin and the airport, after Siberia – and Bucky’s not sure why he isn’t surprised. Steve alternatively refuses to leave his side or is nowhere to be found; he doesn’t mean it, but Steve’s always had a way of getting under Bucky’s skin with everything he doesn’t do. There’s a lot between the two of them that neither of them talks about, and Bucky can’t get the image of Steve, shield raised, lethal despite himself, out of his head.

 

(Even now, even after getting out barely alive, Steve is planning, strategizing. Bucky doesn’t know when he became _only_ Captain America.)

 

He supposes Sam is lethal too – they all are, or they wouldn’t be who they are – but right now Sam’s the guy sitting beside the hospital bed he’s not yet allowed out of, half-asleep. He’s beautiful, Bucky thinks abstractly, groggy from whatever miracle painkillers they’ve put him on and from sleeping longer than he has since DC. It had crossed his mind – impulsive, reckless and afraid of himself, barely conscious in the back of the Quinjet – that maybe the best place for him is out of commission, put under until there’s no risk of whatever else HYDRA has stuck in his brain coming up for air.

 

And then he’d thought about it for a little longer and nearly been sick.

 

So Bucky’s here, now, confined to a bed but more free to live without looking over his shoulder than he’s been since before the war. Indebted to a man who was trying to kill him not much beyond a week ago.

 

And Sam, asleep at the side of his bed. He’s not sure he deserves to be this lucky, even despite everything, how the bruise on his jaw hasn’t healed yet, how his centre of gravity is all wrong, the disorienting vertigo every time he tries to move. It’s easier to lie here and watch Sam, try to memorize how his lashes fan out against his cheeks, the way his head falls further forward the longer he sleeps, the steady, even rhythm of his breathing.

 

He must zone out, because when he comes back to himself, Sam’s awake and staring right back. Bucky blinks, feels heat crawl up his neck to his face; he’s not sure what is between them, why he feels tentative, like he’s a kid who hasn’t grown into himself yet. It’s not that Sam seems wary of him, concerned perhaps with what Bucky does to Steve’s perception; that much isn’t a surprise, because Steve makes bad choices at the best of times, and this is not the best of times.

 

(“I know you don’t like me,” he’d said to Sam, as Steve called his CIA contact. Sam had levelled him with a look, stared at him like Bucky was crazy, like he hadn’t tried to kill Sam more times than he cares to think about. But then Steve had come back and there hadn’t been a lot of time for conversation after that.)

 

Something curls in his stomach, and Bucky drops his gaze.

 

The sheets shift around him, and then–

 

Sam’s fingers curl around his hand, jostle the IV a little. Bucky thinks maybe Sam can feel the way his heart rate picks up, the reflexive curl of his own fingers. Too long he’s been without any kind of contact that does not come with pain, but this isn’t a clap on the shoulder, not someone grabbing his arm in warning. Sam’s hand is soft where it’s not calloused, and Bucky thinks: it might have been all worth it.

 

“Hey.” He’s still not looking at Sam, but slides his eyes to their joined hands when Sam speaks. It’s the best he can manage, and Bucky thinks Sam must realize it, the way he squeezes, real gentle, brushes his thumb across Bucky’s wrist. “You’re wrong, you know.”

 

Sam’s voice is hoarse, he looks tired; Bucky hasn’t asked _where_ Steve broke them out of, why he came back tense and quiet, why Wanda looked so goddamn haunted. But it can’t have been good, because even when they were fighting a battle they couldn’t win, even when he was stuck in the vice in case he woke up the way he went out–

 

Maybe it’s caught up with Sam the way these things eventually catch up with everyone. Bucky considers it, squeezes Sam’s hand in return. He’ll ask later; God knows they all have enough to re-hash, and now… maybe now there’s the time to do it.

 

Sam gives him a look like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with Bucky, but not the way anyone else looks like him – like they can’t tell if he’s a victim or a threat or both. And then his eyes go soft, and he lifts Bucky’s hand, presses his lips to Bucky’s knuckles.

 

“I don’t _actually_ hate you,” Sam clarifies against his hand, then sits back. Bucky nods; gets it now, or at least more than he did. Offers Sam a shaky smile, heart in his throat.

 

“I know,” he says, feels Sam smile, lazy and small.

 

Bucky wants to kiss him, sudden and shocking; what this is frightens him, flight or fight response up against the knowledge that this is not a threat, is not even anxiety. Sam’s eyes are closed again, Bucky’s hand still in his.

 

Bucky drifts, lets Sam, fingers tangled with his own, be the last thing he sees before sleep claims him once more.

 

When he wakes, Sam’s still there.

**Author's Note:**

> my first official foray into marvel fanfiction! 
> 
> find me on tumblr: http://mycenaae.tumblr.com/


End file.
